


One of Those Days

by Inell



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Daddy Kink, Dominant Stiles, Friends With Benefits, Future Fic, M/M, Post-Canon, Rimming, Spanking, Submissive Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 13:30:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6286612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is having one of those days, and Stiles has about ninety minutes to make it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of Those Days

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous requested Stiles/Peter with a twist on Daddy Kink with Dominant Stiles and Peter still the daddy.
> 
> I hope this turned out like what you wanted!

There’s classical music playing and the smell of oregano in the air. Stiles shuts the door to his apartment, sliding his bag off his shoulder and walking further inside. Peter’s in the kitchen, a pristine apron covering his blue sweater and tight black jeans. Stiles arches a brow as he watches Peter cooking.

“Don’t leave your bag on the floor. You’re not a heathen, Stiles.” Peter doesn’t even turn to look at him, but Stiles knows he’s probably smirking. Asshole.

“Why are you in my apartment?” Stiles asks, deliberately leaving the bag in the middle of the living room floor. “You have a place of your own, you know?”

“Your kitchen is bigger.” Peter finally deigns to look at him. “You seriously went to work dressed like that?”

“I wear a uniform at work,” Stiles reminds him, rolling his eyes as he walks into the kitchen. “It doesn’t matter what I actually wear to the station, you know?”

“Stiles, sweat pants are not intended for public consumption.” Peter sniffs. “There’s a hole in your t-shirt, and the flannel is a horrid pattern that does nothing for your complexion. Why aren’t you wearing some of the things that I’ve bought you?”

“Because they’re expensive and meant for going out, not something I’d put on for the quick drive to the station. Besides, I normal just wear my uniform, but I forgot to pick up my dry cleaning last night, so I had to wear the emergency uniform I keep at the station today. I brought it home to get cleaned,” Stiles explains, sniffing the air. “Your kitchen is actually bigger than mine, you realize?”

“Yours is eight and three quarters inches bigger.” Peter gives him a look. “I didn’t buy you clothes to simply see them remain in your closet. I even took your unique tastes into consideration when purchasing them. You should show some appreciation and wear them instead of going around looking like a poor college student.”

“One of those days, huh?” Stiles studies him a moment, taking in the faint circles under Peter’s eyes and the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth. He glances at the clock then the sauce before focusing on Peter. “How long does it have to cook?”

“Ninety minutes.” Peter puts the lid on the pan and faces him. “Yes, it’s one of those days. I should have called first to ensure you had no plans, but I couldn’t stay in my apartment a moment longer than necessary.”

“You’d know if I had plans,” Stiles points out quietly. His relationship with Peter is odd, to say the least, and they’ve never actually defined any of it, but Peter knows he’s the only person Stiles is dating. 

At first, Peter had been traumatized from his time in Eichen House, and Stiles had been the only person he’d allow around him consistently. Sure, Stiles’ dad and Chris Argent were able to get close occasionally, but he seemed to trust Stiles more than anyone else. It had led to an awkward recovery that became an interesting friendship and eventually developed into sex then their own style of dating. Of course, once sex became part of their relationship, Stiles stopped dating other people because he’s a monogamous even if Peter isn’t (though Stiles thinks he actually is). They’ve just never bothered to label things between them.

Peter narrows his eyes, tilting his head slightly and frowning. “I would,” he says slowly, like the words are unfamiliar to him somehow. He leans in, sniffing Stiles, scenting him after a day spent sharing a squad car with Jordan. His lip curls slightly, the way it always does whenever he’s around right when Stiles gets off work. “You smell like dog.”

“Werewolves and hellhounds probably belong to the same species of supernatural creature biology,” he muses, tilting his head slightly so Peter can reach his neck. “We should research it.”

“We are nothing alike,” Peter scoffs. He pulls back and looks into Stiles’ eyes. “We have a little over an hour until the pasta will need to be put on so it’s prepared when the sauce is ready.”

“And you’re in a mood.” Stiles nods. “Okay, yeah, we’ve got time. I’d rather do it now so you feel better before we eat. I’m going to take a piss then I’ll meet you in the bedroom. I want you naked and kneeling, presenting yourself for me. Can you do that for me, Daddy?”

“Yes.” Peter’s lashes flutter and his nostrils flare. “Make me forget, Stiles.”

“I’ll do my best.” Stiles kisses him, soft and teasing, knowing it’s the opposite of what Peter believes he needs when he’s been suffering from nightmares and unease. Stiles can be rough, can be dominant, but he’s not going to start playing until they’re in the bedroom where boundaries are defined and expectations are clear.

Peter whimpers into the kiss, a broken sound reluctantly torn from his parted lips. When Stiles pulls back, he strokes Peter’s jaw. Peter blinks at him. “I’ll go prepare myself for you.”

“Don’t touch this,” Stiles says firmly, reaching down to squeeze Peter’s dick. He then slaps his ass once. “Or this. Those are mine tonight, Daddy. Understood?”

“Understood.” Peter checks the sauce one more time before he removes his apron, carefully folding it and leaving it on the counter before walking down the hall to Stiles’ bedroom.

Stiles grabs two bottles of water out of the fridge, knowing Peter will need one later because he’s tense as hell. He’s having one of those days when he needs Stiles to give him something special, which can be emotionally draining because Stiles prefers being with Peter, not Daddy. Oh, he still gets off, and sometimes they play without needing an emotional catalyst to spur them into it, but he doesn’t understand why being fucked hard seems to help Peter more than slow sex and snuggles.

After stopping in the bathroom to piss and wash up, he goes to his bedroom and finds Peter kneeling on the bed. His clothes are folded and stacked neatly on the chair, the bottle of lube is beside his knee, and he has the side of his face pressed against the pillow. His eyes open when Stiles steps into the room, but he doesn’t raise his head. “Good job, Daddy. Look at that pretty ass,” Stiles murmurs, shrugging off his flannel before pulling his t-shirt over his head. “What do you say when your boy tells you that you’ve got a pretty ass?”

“Thank you, boy,” Peter says, his fingers flexing as Stiles looks at him.

Once his shoes are off, Stiles shoves his sweats and underwear down. He kneels on the bed, reaching out to caress Peter’s ass cheeks. “How many do you want, Daddy?”

“However many you feel I deserve, boy.”

“It isn’t about what you deserve. It’s about what you need.”

There’s a moment of silence before Peter replies. “Thirty-six.”

Oddly specific number. There’s probably some meaning to it, but Stiles knows better than to ask when Peter’s in a mood. “Alright. Count for me.”

The first slap against Peter’s ass has him gasping because it’s hard. Hard enough to make Stiles’ palm sting. Normally, he starts with more tentative slaps, spanking Peter with a mixture of soft and hard. Tonight, he figures it’s a good time to change it up. He keeps spanking him, alternating his force and the areas where he spanks. When he reaches the high twenties, he stops and rubs Peter’s ass, feeling the warmth where blood has rushed to the skin.

“Hold yourself open for me,” Stiles murmurs, watching Peter shift and spread his cheeks. He spanks his hole, listening to the noises Peter makes, moving his hand to spank at the sensitive area where Peter’s ass meets the back of his leg. He finishes up with spanks to his hole and areas around Peter’s hands. When Peter finally whispers the final number, Stiles leans down to kiss his ass cheek. “Are you good, Daddy?”

“I’m good, boy.” Peter’s voice is low and husky. He isn’t as tense, already relaxing under Stiles’ hands. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Daddy.” Stiles kisses his way along Peter’s ass before he licks his pucker from balls up. Peter’s breath catches, and Stiles smiles because he always enjoys making Peter react. He focuses on licking his hole, lapping at it with the flat of his tongue, and pushing his tongue inside. Peter is breathing hard, pushing back against Stiles’ tongue, his hole pulsing around Stiles’ tongue. Reaching for the lube, Stiles pours some into his palm, warming it up before coating his fingers. He kisses Peter’s cheeks as he pushes a finger into his wet hole.

Peter pushes back, never one to lower himself to beg, but letting his body do it for him. Stiles adds a second finger, shifting around so he can suck on Peter’s balls while he fingers his ass. When Peter is easily taking three fingers, his hole loose and desperate, Stiles pulls them out, wiping his hand on the bed before squirting more lube in his palm. He strokes his dick, lubing it up, then he presses the head of his dick against Peter’s hole.

“You’re so tight for me, Daddy.” Stiles thrusts completely inside in one deep shove. This is how Peter likes it, and Stiles doesn’t mind giving it to him. He fucks him hard, going deep and fast, not giving him a chance to adjust to Stiles’ girth. Peter likes the pain with the pleasure, and there’s only so many ways Stiles is willing to provide it. He leans over Peter, his chest rubbing against his back, panting as he fucks Peter into the mattress hard enough for the bed to move with each thrust. “So good for me, Daddy.”

“Fuck,” Peter growls, pushing back and meeting every thrust. Stiles reaches beneath him, stroking Peter’s dick, twisting his wrist and jerking him as well as he can given the awkward angle. It’s enough for Peter to make a noise, bucking back and forth between Stiles’ fist and his dick. When Peter comes, he whines low in his throat, baring his neck for Stiles, his dick pulsing and spilling onto the blanket beneath him.

Stiles bites his neck, not hard enough to pierce the skin but hard enough for Peter to feel it. He sucks a bruise that won’t last, snapping his hips more forcefully. When his body tenses, he thrusts forward deep and shudders, grunting as he comes in Peter’s ass. He keeps fucking Peter until his dick’s spent, finally just burying himself deep and pushing Peter against the mattress. “Love fucking you, Daddy,” he whispers, kissing Peter’s neck and rolling his hips lazily as he holds Peter in the only ways he’s allowed on nights like this.

“Stiles,” Peter whispers his name, turning his head and kissing him. Stiles pulls out of his ass, rolling to his side and kissing him more deeply, stroking Peter’s sweaty skin as they wrap themselves around each other. When they pull apart, Peter nuzzles Stiles’ neck while Stiles strokes his hair, keeping a leg around him so Peter’s closely held against him. Now that the spanking is done, now that they’ve fucked, Peter’s been able to get whatever darkness in his head out for a while, and now he’ll let Stiles snuggle the hell out of him.

Later, they’ll get up, they’ll finish making dinner, and they’ll eat and talk, sassy snark that causes private smiles and lingering looks. This will help Peter focus, will chase away the nightmares and whatever memories of Eichen are still in his head, for a while, at least, until he needs it again. And Stiles will be here waiting to take care of his Daddy, to take care of Peter, to give him whatever he needs to get through the night because maybe somewhere along the line Stiles has been incredibly stupid. He’s fallen in love. Just a little. Or possibly a lot.


End file.
